


Syria Again

by PeregrineBones



Series: Ineffability [5]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Baklava, M/M, Religious Discussion, Romance, love in the desert, mint tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26580271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeregrineBones/pseuds/PeregrineBones
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley get a warning from an ifrit and have a discussion about ineffable things.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffability [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1520459
Kudos: 1





	Syria Again

In the impossibly clear desert night, a whirlwind moved across the desert sands. The stars sparkled above, a million tiny,hot pinpricks of light. Crowley and Aziraphale lay nestled among the dunes, sharing a flask of the excellent local moonshine. They watched as the whirlwind came steadily closer.

At last it stood before them, a funnel of dust and sand the height and width of a large man. Slowly the whirling sand subsided and a blue skinned ifrit stood before them. He was tall, and thickly built. His well formed muscles rippled under his blue skin, which gleamed softly in the starlight. He had a gold ring in his ear. Two silver scimitars were strapped to his sides.

“Heard you were in town,” the ifrit said, addressing Crowley.

Crowley stood and embraced the djinn. “Well met, old friend,” he said.

“Who’s your handsome companion?” asked the ifrit, looking Aziraphale over. He did look rather glorious, lying there stretched out in the sand, with the starlight playing over his golden curls and gently illuminating his face.

“Don’t you know Aziraphale?” Crowley asked as the angel picked himself up and stood, a bit unsteadily, beside him.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Aziraphale said formally, with a certain inflection in his voice that he used when he was trying not to slur his words. They had been making a serious dent in the flask before the ifrit had arrived.

“Aziraphale, meet Fareez Ahmad. Fareez, meet Aziraphale,” said Crowley.

“I know who you are,” said Aziraphale, and now Crowley could definitely hear the drunken slur in his words.

“And I you,” said the ifrit, with just a hint of menace.

“You refused to bow down to Adam,” said Aziraphale, unable to keep the ice out of his tone. “In the beginning.”

“I was merely obeying God’s commandment to bow to no man,” replied Fareez, and Crowley heard the fire, from which he was made, in his voice. A small flame burned in the center of each of his pupils.

“And you were banished for it!” replied Aziraphale, the blue light of heaven sparking in his eyes.

“It was merely a test,” replied Fareez calmly. “God wished to test my adherence to his commandment, just as God tested Abraham when he commanded him to kill his beloved son Isaac. And things have not worked out too badly for me. I have had many wives, many children, all the pleasure the earth has to offer; food, wine and women, and the satisfaction of dandling my grandbabies on my knee. I know I am banished, but truly, eternity has been kind to me, and I believe that somewhere, God smiles upon me. But I forget myself,” he said, sweeping a broad blue hand through the air. A luxurious woven carpet appeared on the sand, set with a steaming silver samovar and plates of nuts, dates and sweets. “I have neglected the hospitality of the desert. Won’t you join me for a cup of tea?” The sweet aroma of mint drifted from the spout of the samovar, and filled the desert night.

They settled themselves on embroidered cushions, and Fareez poured. “Praise be to Allah,” he said, raising an intricately decorated cup before he drank. Crowley and Aziraphale took their cups and drank, but did not repeat the djinn’s blessing. Crowley did not because praising God was against his very nature (he hoped that Fareez would understand that) - and Aziraphale - well, Crowley wasn’t quite sure why the angel had refused to raise his cup to the name of God. Crowley would have to ask him later.

They chatted about this and that. Crowley hadn’t seen Fareez for several centuries, so they had some catching up to do. They had been quite good friends during the crusades and had worked together on a number of projects. But, of course, Aziraphale hadn’t been a part of any of that. And although Crowley and the angel had already had their arrangement well in place by the mid 1300s, including the sexy bits, Crowley realized, as he chatted with Fareez, that his alliance with the djinn and his cohorts had largely been under the angel’s radar.

At last, after an appropriate amount of chit chat and gossip, Fareez leaned back on one of the embroidered cushions and Crowley got the feeling they were getting to the point of this little visitation.

“Having a nice holiday, are you?” said Fareez, with forced casualness.

“Erm,” said Crowley. “I’m here for work, actually. War zone and all that. Lots of opportunities for devilment and temptation.”

“Me too,” piped up Aziraphale, and Crowley was relieved to notice that the tea seemed to have sobered him up. “Souls to be saved, divine healings, miracles to be performed, that sort of thing.”

“I see,” said Fareez. He raised his cup to his lips, and took a long slow sip of his tea, eyeballing them over the rim. The flames flickered in his dark eyes. “So….the fact that you two are here together is just… coincidence then?”

“Yeah,” said Crowley. He didn’t like the direction this was going.

“Most certainly,” said Aziraphale, stiffly.

“And this little assignation in the desert?” said Fareez.

“Just…. Two old friends, having a drink,” said Crowley, trying to sound casual, although he cringed internally when he heard the defensiveness in his own voice. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“Friends?” said the djinn.

“Comrades, really,” put in Aziraphale. “Just two survivors of eternity, we are. Comparing notes, so to speak.”

Fareez looked majestic, sitting there with the starlight shining on his deep blue skin, his face, heavy featured and wise, as old as time itself. The quiet of the desert night lengthened and stretched between the three of them. At last the Ifrit seemed to make up his mind. He took a deep breath in, and turned to Crowley, ignoring Aziraphale as if he were not there.

“Look, Crowley,” he said. “I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you and I don’t really care. But I’m here to warn you. The balance is off. It’s shifting, and people on my side of things have noticed. Good isn’t supposed to get too close to evil, and when that happens, well…..no one knows what comes next. But in my department, they’re paying attention, and they’re worried. I’m….I’m not really supposed to be here. But… for old times sake…. From one old tempter to another….don’t let the fascinations of love, blind you, my friend.”

The Ifrit stood and stretched, his muscles rippling in the starlight. “Good bye, old companion,” he said to Crowley. “May God’s blessing fall upon you.” He nodded to Aziraphale. “Farewell, angel.”

He waved his hand and the rug and the food disappeared, leaving only a few sparkles drifting to the ground in the clear night air. Then the whirlwind started around him again, obscuring his form in a swirling cone of dust and sand and he was gone, across the dunes.

Crowley stood beside Aziraphale and watched the ifrit go. Fareez's word rang in his ears. " _Don't let the fascinations of love blind you, my friend."_ He wondered what Aziraphale had thought of that. But if the angel had noticed the implications of those words he gave no sign.

At last he turned to Aziraphale. “Why didn’t you raise your cup to God?” he asked.

“He said Allah, not God,” replied Aziraphale.

“Isn’t it the same thing?”

“No,” said Aziraphale. “Of course it isn’t. He’s an infidel.”

“I thought all names of god were metaphors for the same force, the same being.”

Aziraphale looked at him with pity. “That’s not the way it works,” he said slowly. “All gods have their place, their realm, their power, but our God is the best one, the Metatron - the Ultimate Being. That’s the very definition of monotheism.”

“So you're saying Fareez’s god is inferior to yours.”

“Of course.”

Crowley shuddered and a sudden chilly wind rose up in the still desert air. “That’s… not quite how I see it….”

“Of course it isn’t,” said Aziraphale, with infuriating calm. “You’re the Devil. It’s against your nature to understand. The point of your entire existence is to draw people away from the true path.”

“And part of the true path is disrespect for every other religion on earth?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “It’s not disrespect, exactly. It's just …. His way is not the true way. I cannot raise a cup to his god.”

“Aziraphale, there’s over a billion Muslims in the world. Do you realize that?”

“I am aware.”

“And what? Your saying …. they’re all wrong?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale simply, with infuriating calm.

“How?” said Crowley. “How are they wrong?”

“They’re not getting into the Good Place,” said Aziraphale.

“Not…. your Good Place, but possibly…. Some Good Place.”

“Ours is the one that counts,” said Aziraphale. And he sniffed. He literally sniffed.

“They get into some Good Place!” sputtered Crowley. “They have their own Good Place!”

“Ours is the best.”

“ _They_ don’t think so! I’m sure they would say _theirs_ is the best! Wouldn’t they?”

“Of course they would! But they’re wrong, dearest, that’s just the way that it is!”

Crowley heard the endearment, and his heart leapt at the words, even as his brain boiled with anger at what Aziraphale was saying. He sat down, put his arms around his legs, his head on his knees. Aziraphale sat beside him and put an arm around his shoulders.

“That’s …..incredibly arrogant,” Crowley said at last.

“The church has long been criticized for arrogance. But it doesn’t change the facts.”

“Isn’t arrogance a sin?”

“Not…. technically, no,” said Aziraphale, though Crowley heard the doubt in his voice.

Aziraphale took his hand in his and kissed the palm. “We are starting to argue about the ineffable,” he said, and sighed. They sat there holding hands in the starlight, looking up at the vast, mysterious heavens.

“Can’t we agree to disagree?” Aziraphale asked. “For now?”

Crowley stared up at the glorious, starlit sky, the wonder of creation all around him.

“Do you suppose that little pastry shop is still open?" said Aziraphale. "The one in the market square, with the excellent baklava?”

“They stay open till midnight,” Crowley replied.

“Let’s go get a coffee then, and a little nibble, shall we?”

“I suppose,” said Crowley. He allowed the angel to pull him up by the hand, allowed himself to be kissed, Aziraphales’s perfect, warm lips on his, nuudging them open, allowed a little graze of his teeth with Aziraphale’s nimble tongue.

“I’m going to prove you wrong,” Crowley said, pulling away.

“You can try, my dear,” said Aziraphale, with profound condescension. “But I know I’m right.”

And hand in hand they walked across the desert, in search of a coffee and a baklava.


End file.
